


have (some) mercy

by narcissablaxk



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creepy Terry Silver, Exercises in grounding KK3 to reality, Karate Kid 3 AU, M/M, Make KK3 less wild challenge, Sexual Harassment, Terry Silver is a predator, Trauma, lawrusso
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28938729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: When you aren't sure which direction your life is going, someone can always come along, take you by the hand, and lead you in the wrong direction. It takes great strength to bring yourself back to the path once you've left it.Daniel and Johnny are used to fighting - but fighting their own mistakes might be too great a challenge.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence, Johnny Lawrence/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please PLEASE be aware that this story is going to explore the creepier side of Terry Silver's manipulation of Daniel LaRusso. I will be explicit and warn you of each chapter where he is being his typical, creepy self. Take those warnings seriously and avoid those sections if they trigger you. Thanks!

Daniel hadn’t missed California while he was in Okinawa. He followed Mr. Miyagi out of the airport terminal, his bag in hand, and inhaled, the smog thick and memorable the way Okinawa was clear and fresh. The bruise on his face was still healing, and when he screwed up his nose at the smell, it radiated like an earthquake over the left side of his face. 

“Smog,” he said disdainfully. “Smells like home, huh, Mr. Miyagi?” 

Mr. Miyagi looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. “Daniel-san, why is mother not here to greet you? You tell her right flight number?” 

Daniel shrugged. “Yeah, I told her the right flight number, I just told her the wrong day.” Mr. Miyagi laughed quietly and Daniel pulled open the door to a waiting cab. “She loves surprises, Mr. Miyagi, she’ll love this.” 

The ride was long and sweaty in the back of a cab, but Mr. Miyagi and Daniel sat in companionable silence. Daniel tried to force himself to be happy about being back in the Valley, but he could feel the empty seat beside him where Kumiko was supposed to sit. He told Mr. Miyagi he understood that she had to follow her dream, and that he didn’t resent her for it, and that was true, but he still hurt, deep in his gut, for the lost potential. 

If he closed his eyes, he could still see her face, the smile in her eyes as she passed him the teacup. And he spent more time with his eyes closed than he wanted to admit. It felt like a fist was squeezing around his lungs every time he remembered her, but he couldn’t bring himself to avoid thinking about her. 

Was that what love was supposed to be? 

Maybe he’d wait a few weeks and ask Mr. Miyagi what he thought. 

If he was lucky, and sometimes he liked to think that he was, maybe he would see Kumiko again. She promised to write, but she didn’t have an address in Tokyo yet, so he wouldn’t even be able to write her first. He wouldn’t be able to hope that they could find each other again unless she hoped for the same thing. And Daniel wasn’t a patient person – he certainly wasn’t a _wait it out and see_ person.

He would have to be a person he fundamentally wasn’t just to stay sane. 

There was construction happening in front of the South Seas when they pulled up, Mrs. Milo reaching for the cab door before Mr. Miyagi could even open it. 

“What are you doing in my cab?” she asked as Mr. Miyagi stepped out and out of the way, Daniel following. 

“This isn’t your cab,” Daniel said with a laugh. “We just came from the airport.” 

“Oh, well I just called a cab,” she said, as if he hadn’t figured that out yet.

“Mrs. Milo, what’s going on?” Daniel asked, pointing at all the construction. 

“What does it look like?” she asked, tossing her purse into the backseat. “Progress. I got a message from your mother.” 

Daniel nodded, and she turned to Mr. Miyagi. 

“I told you the bum was gonna sell the place and you’d be out of a job someday,” she said, poking Mr. Miyagi gently in the chest. He nodded, looking back toward the buildings. “You wouldn’t listen to me.” 

“What’s the message?” Daniel asked.

“What message?” 

“The one from my mother.” 

“Oh,” Mrs. Milo got into the backseat of the cab. “She said to call her at your Uncle Louie’s.” 

***

Uncle Louie had emphysema, according to Daniel’s mother. She was out in Jersey to take care of him, and she would be as long as he needed her. Daniel listened to her chattering away to Mr. Miyagi, talking about college and how grateful she was that Daniel had him, and on and on and on. Mr. Miyagi just nodded and listened while Daniel padded around the house, trying to find places for the things they took out of Mr. Miyagi’s workshop. 

The place they’d met, where Mr. Miyagi had him trim his first bonsai, gone. 

Just like Kumiko, just like Ali, just like everything else. Perhaps this was what growing up was. 

Daniel looked over to Mr. Miyagi, who was still on the phone, a small but solid presence that seemed unshaken by anything that happened, even after Okinawa, after losing his job. 

Daniel took a deep breath and got back to work. If Mr. Miyagi could be strong like that for him, then he certainly could be strong for Mr. Miyagi. 

***

Johnny initially suggested enlisting in the Air Force as a way to provoke his step-dad into an ire that might result in a heart attack. That would be the best graduation gift he could receive – his mother freed from his clutches, flush with his generational wealth, their relationship salvaged and safe, Johnny himself finally left alone. 

But Sid hadn’t balked at the idea of enlisting in the Air Force (even if Johnny had only suggested it because of _Red Dawn_ , which was a badass movie); in fact, when Johnny had gotten home after graduation, still in his cap and gown, Sid had thrust a pile of papers into his hands and demanded that he sign them. 

The idea of the Air Force didn’t frighten him – in fact, the more he thought about it, the more he thought that maybe he’d stumbled his way into a good idea. He didn’t have to worry about failing out of college, and basic training was eight weeks of pretty much a weaker version of what he had to do every day in Cobra Kai training. 

Not that he’d been training with Cobra Kai for almost five months. 

Bobby, Jimmy, and Tommy came to see him off when he left for basic, Dutch still pissed that they’d quit Cobra Kai and thus maintaining a stony silence. Ali had come by the night before, staying long enough to hesitate on his front step and give him a lingering hug that reminded him of better times. 

Now that he was in basic training, with a cardboard mattress, mandated meal times, and a whole group of Dutches around him at all times, he thought perhaps he’d made a mistake. The workouts were easy, the yelling unremarkable, but the empty times between meals and sleep, where he had to talk to the people in his unit, were hellish. 

These guys were animals, always fighting and yelling, somehow still complaining about all of the fighting and yelling while they did it. They didn’t care if you were sleeping when they came in, drunk on contraband, they certainly didn’t care if you didn’t ask to get dumped out of your bed at 3 a.m. 

But he only had a couple of weeks left, and then maybe he would never have to see them again. 

At least, that’s what he hoped. 

***

Simon Chapman was Johnny’s least favorite asshole in the entire Air Force. Sure, he was only in basic training, and he had only met…however many jerkoffs that shared the barracks with him, but he was pretty sure none of them would surpass Chapman in pure, unadulterated dick moves. 

Clearly, he’d been a bully before he got here, and even though Johnny was familiar with being called a bully (with good reason), Chapman enjoyed it, relished in it, and leaned into it with a fierceness that made Johnny nervous. He was here, in basic training, because it gave him the place and opportunity to keep being a bully. 

Johnny was here because he wanted freedom, and he wanted a place to become a new person – where he could let go of everything that happened senior year and move on. He and Chapman were just…too different. 

But he _liked_ Johnny – liked him in that way that meant Johnny incurred his joking wrath every other day somehow, from mindless shoves to getting his food knocked out of his tray and onto the floor. It was simple, basic bullying tactics, but after almost six weeks, it was driving Johnny nuts. 

He wasn’t prone to thinking about girly shit like karma, which Ali used to remind him weekly about, but he couldn’t help but think about it now, when his toothbrush smelled suspiciously funky for the fourth time since he got here and Chapman was grinning wolfishly at him while he sniffed it. But was this karma coming back to bite him in the ass for what he did to Daniel LaRusso senior year? 

He only thought about it when he was lying on the thin bed, listening to everyone else rustling around in their bunks, in those moments before he went to sleep. Still, when it was hard to fall asleep, those moments felt like a lifetime. 

He woke to Allen Peak shoving his shoulder insistently. Peak wasn’t suited for this place – he was small, almost scrawny, and he took the yelling personally. Johnny could see his skinny jaw go tight when the yelling got too close to his face, when someone told him to pick up the pace. He was hot-headed, quick to swing his bony little fists, and half the time, they didn’t even hit the target. 

But he was also kind, and kindness was in short supply. So when Peak was sitting by himself at mealtimes, Johnny sat beside him. 

“Get up. Chapman’s coming,” Peak whispered. “Got a bucket of water.” 

Johnny groaned and sat up, just in time to see Chapman dump the bucket of water on Peak instead of himself. Still, the residual drippings landed all over his bare legs, ice cold, and he jerked away from it. 

Poor Peak was shivering so hard his teeth were chattering, Chapman and his goons whooping behind him. With a sympathetic grimace, Johnny passed Peak his towel and then his blanket. 

“Get dressed,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “It’ll warm you up.” 

***

Daniel didn’t sleep the day before his first day of college. He tried to; he stared up at the new wood ceiling of his room, still smelling a little like wood and paint. He counted sheep, he did some deep breathing exercises. He did everything he could to drop off and dream, and still, he was unsuccessful. So around 3 a.m. he got out of bed and got in his car. 

He drove to the community college, where he was enrolled as a business major. His grades senior year had been below mediocre – it was hard to study calculus when you were getting stuffed in trash cans and avoiding assholes – so he’d also missed his deadline for applying to most four year colleges. 

When asked, he lied to his mother and told her that he got rejected from them all. The unfortunate truth was just that he’d forgotten to apply. He was busy with karate, with Ali, with surviving. School didn’t seem that important. 

He parked in the lot, empty except for one streetlight, and stared up at the main building, where he’d gone to register for four classes. Entrance level ones, all more boring than the last, so expensive he didn’t even want to think about how much the rest of it would cost. He had to bring a check to them tomorrow morning, the rest of his tuition, on the first day of school. It was the deadline – once again, he’d cut it too close. 

But that was the nature of his whole life, he thought ruefully. Moved to a new school on his last year, missed application deadlines, won the tournament by one point, on a kick he hadn’t even believed would work, almost missed the flight to Okinawa, barely won a fight to the death, the list went on and on and landed haphazardly at his feet. 

Perhaps he was always supposed to be cutting it fine. That’s just who he was. Or, he thought in the thin, ethereal fog of the middle of the night, all alone, maybe he was constantly cutting it fine because he knew he was meant to be doing something else. 

He didn’t want to be here – that much was clear to him when there was no one around to tell him that he didn’t know what he thought. The idea of going to another school didn’t inspire him at all; it was sad, that life just continued in the same cycle, so soon after you celebrated everything changing. 

He sat in that parking lot, staring out at nothing, and tried to figure out what exactly he wanted to do. What didn’t make him feel like he was waking up on the first day of senior year again? While he thought, the sun crept out of hiding and welcomed the cars that quietly surrounded him, people who were excited for the first day of classes, fresh-faced and holding new notebooks and unboxed pens. 

He followed them in and waited his turn at the registrar desk, fiddling with his belt loops. One of them was frayed. 

A kindly looking woman beckoned him forward, and he still hadn’t figured out what he was going to do. 

“Hi, uhhh…” he looked down at his fidgeting hands. “My name is Daniel LaRusso…”

“Okay,” the woman said bracingly, turning to a file cabinet and rifling through it. “Mr. LaRusso, I have your file here. You have one last tuition payment to make…” 

Something on his face must have stopped her, because she looked up and trailed off. 

“Yeah,” he said, drawing the word out, hoping the next words would just…come to him. “I’d like to withdraw. How much of my tuition money can I get back?” 

***

“Did you hear?” Peak slid into the seat beside Johnny, the ends of his hair still wet, curling slightly at the end. “End of the week, we get our dog tags.” 

Johnny pinched his brow and shoveled more eggs into his mouth. “What for?” 

He shrugged. “Real soldiers have dog tags, Lawrence,” he said excitedly. “We’ll be real soldiers.” 

Johnny didn’t answer him. They wouldn’t be real soldiers unless they were in some sort of combat situation. He remembered Kreese talking about it – heart in your throat, hand on a weapon, wondering if you were going to die in the next five seconds. Thinking about it made him want to throw up. He paused, his forkful of food hovering near his mouth. They didn’t have a lot of time to eat – any second wasted was felt later. 

“You alright?” 

_You’re alright, LaRusso._

He jerked his head up and down and kept eating.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive TW for homophobic language in this chapter, and some internalized homophobia. Please be safe if this is triggering for you!

Daniel didn’t go home after he got his tuition money back – he took the check (of only about two-thirds of the tuition, but who was he to judge) to the bank and cashed it, rolling the bills into a tight roll and stuffing it into the pocket of his pants. He knew what he wanted to do with it; he’d known since he put his hands on the little paper check. 

He remembered Mr. Miyagi’s crushed face when he realized that he would no longer be working at the old apartment complex. Daniel always assumed that Mr. Miyagi worked there out of a weird sense of purpose, because he was used to working, not because he liked it. But when it was no longer an option, Mr. Miyagi’s love for helping people and fixing things was staring him in the face, plain as day. 

Daniel couldn’t very well get him another job like that one, but he remembered babbling on about opening a bonsai shop while they were moving Mr. Miyagi’s stuff out of the little workshop. The way Mr. Miyagi laughed under his breath, the wistful way he looked at the bonsai in the back of the truck. Mr. Miyagi didn’t think it was possible, opening up a store for his bonsai, but Daniel was a dreamer, and he was going to make it happen. 

The place he found wasn’t the best, he’d be the first to admit it, but rent in LA was _astronomical,_ so he told himself that Mr. Miyagi would like fixing it up, the same way he liked fixing leaky faucets and old bicycles. He handed over most of the money to the realtor, who looked down at it like she didn’t understand why he was paying in cash, and patted her on the shoulder. 

“This is my best friend’s dream,” he said, and she smiled at him like she couldn’t care less. “I’m going to make his dream come true.” 

“You’re a good kid,” she muttered, shrugging her shoulder out from under his hand. “Just remember to get the insurance once this place is up to code.” 

Mr. Miyagi was cooking dinner when he got home – how long had he been gone? The whole day seemed to slip away from him, like water through his fingers, and he practically bounced his way over to him and held out the little box he’d rolled the lease into. 

When he opened the box and didn’t say anything, Daniel thought, for a long, agonizing moment, that’s he’d made a terrible mistake. Had he completely misunderstood Mr. Miyagi and what he wanted? And then his face broke into a tentative smile and Daniel’s heart soared. 

“Only if you become business partner,” Mr. Miyagi said, in that stern tone that sounded almost like a scolding, and Daniel laughed and nodded, shaking his hand like they would at a business deal. “But, Daniel-san, where money come from?” 

Daniel gave him a sheepish shrug. “I’m not going to college this year, Mr. Miyagi, I’ll go next year. I can’t just sit in a classroom and learn stuff if I’m not interested, and I’m _not_ interested.” He was rambling, his trademark move when he got nervous, and he knew Mr. Miyagi could see right through him to the anxious little ball of nerves in his belly. 

“You call mother, tell her yourself,” Mr. Miyagi said. It wasn’t disappointed, exactly, but resigned, like he knew Daniel made up his mind and it couldn’t be changed now. And Mr. Miyagi was a placid person, deep down, he didn’t like to shake things up. But he knew Daniel’s mom had no problem shaking anything and everything up if she felt the need. 

And she _did_ feel the need. 

“Daniel Elio LaRusso, you _dropped out of college_?” he had to pull the phone receiver away from his ear, Mr. Miyagi grimacing and ducking out of the room. He closed the door behind him, Daniel glaring after him. _Take me with you._

“I didn’t drop out, Ma, I deferred. You know, when you put off going for a year?” 

“I know what defer means, son, don’t patronize me,” his mother practically spat, sighing heavily. “You know it was my dream for you to graduate from college, baby, why did you decide you weren’t going to go?” 

“I’m going to go!” Daniel exclaimed. “You don’t need to get all worked up about it, I’m just going in a year instead of today.” 

He could hear the machines beeping in the background, and he was reminded, again, of where his mother was, what she was doing. He couldn’t stand the sound of hospital machines, not after his father. A wave of guilt crashed over him, so heavy he felt like staggering. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said, and her voice was sad, full of worry. “Getting into that school was a blessing.” 

“It was just the local college,” Daniel muttered, but he didn’t have the heart to fight anymore. “I will go, I promise.” He crossed his fingers over the receiver. “Take care of Uncle Louie. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“I love you, my son.” 

“Yeah, I love you too,” he said, trying to be nonchalant but feeling the guilt creep into his tone anyway. He hung up the phone and stared at it for a while before he had the energy to move.

***

Johnny hated having cleaning duty with Peak. The kid was talkative, and so painfully nice that Johnny found himself actually responding to him, cracking jokes and snapping towels and forgetting that he hated it here. But that put his guard down, and that gave Peak the idea that they were friends. 

And they weren’t friends. 

“By the way, I wouldn’t use your usual toothbrush,” Peak said, on his knees near the edge of the room, scrubbing at some hard-to-remove dirt by the door. “Chapman definitely scrubs the inside of the toilets with toothbrushes of people he doesn’t like.” 

Johnny snorted. “Yeah, I figured. I just keep getting new ones.” 

“Just leave one toothbrush out, and get a replica,” Peak said, matter-of-factly. “Leave the replica hidden and use that. If they look the same, Chapman will think he won and you won’t be brushing your teeth with human shit.” 

Johnny grimaced, halting his sweeping. “Peak, I’m trying not to barf over here,” Johnny pointed out. “Less human shit talk.” 

Peak gave him an insecure laugh. “Right, sorry.” 

“Have you considered knocking the living daylights out of Chapman next time he tries something with you?” Johnny asked, leaning his broom on the wall to go find the dust pan. “See if that makes him stop?” 

“Have you?” Peak asked, looking up from the floor. Johnny didn’t answer. “Because you know what happens if you do, right?” 

“They can’t kick you out for punching someone for being a dick if Chapman can literally make people brush their teeth with shit,” Johnny argued. 

Peak rolled his eyes, reminding Johnny of someone else. He shook his head to get the thought dislodged. “Sure they can, Lawrence. Because Chapman’s dad is some bigwig in the Department of Defense or something. And you and I…well…” 

“We’re just nobodies,” Johnny finished. 

Peak huffed from his spot. “Speak for yourself, Lawrence.” 

Johnny laughed, the sound sneaking out before he could stifle it. He felt rather than heard Peak turn toward the sound like he was surprised. 

“You’re not a nobody, Lawrence,” Peak said finally. “Not to me.” 

Johnny turned to meet his gaze and saw chocolate brown eyes that transported him to another state. And then the sound of boots brought him hastily to his feet and Peak followed, but surely he heard them coming, too, he wouldn’t – 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Chapman asked, two others coming in behind him, their nametags curled on the edges so Johnny couldn’t read them. “Two fags on their knees.”

“Quit using words like that,” Peak said firmly from his spot by the door. Johnny shook his head in his direction – _don’t pick a fight, you idiot, you just said you wouldn’t_ – but Peak was already looking at Chapman, who was bearing down on him like a predator, his eyes growing larger the closer he leaned. 

“Like what?” Chapman asked, feigning innocence. “ _Fag_?” He crowded even closer to Peak, so his crotch was in line with his face, and Johnny found himself wishing the Peak would go for the cheap shot, if he was going to go for any shot at all. _Take the cheap shot and get out of here,_ he thought vehemently. _That’s the only way this ends._

Except Peak just stood up to his full height, way shorter than Chapman and slight where the other was broad, and Johnny muttered _“shit,”_ to himself and got up to stand completely. 

“What are you going to do about it?” Chapman asked, a smug smile already on his face, his victory already won and counted. “You fucking fag?” 

Peak swung, an over-calculated, weak-wristed thing, and Chapman took the hit on the cheekbone with barely a flinch. Johnny came closer, knowing when backup was more than necessary, but it took less than a second for Chapman to shove Peak away from him, and for Peak to slam his head into the side of a bunk on his way to the ground. 

He went down and stayed that way. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Johnny asked as Chapman’s friends backed away through the open door and disappeared. 

“My problem is _you_ ,” Chapman hissed at him, even though he was turning away, going back out the door, away from the problem so he couldn’t be caught. “You and your little fucking girlfriend.” 

Johnny didn’t even bother to watch him leave. Peak was still on the ground, eyes closed, a bloody spot on the side of his head. He checked his pulse, pretending like it was just protocol and not something he actually thought necessary, and cradled his head so it was even and in-line with the rest of his neck and spine. 

“Come on, Al,” he said quietly. “Wake up so I don’t have to report this.” He patted the side of Peak’s face, trying not to notice how small his face was in comparison to his hand, how delicate and fragile he looked. He left his hand there, against the sharp cheekbone. “Come on, _wake up_.” 

***

Taking him to medical was the least he could do. Johnny sat beside him, looking down at the stained knees of his pants, fidgeting with his own hands, waiting for him to wake up, for at least half an hour before Peak shifted on the bed and his hand caught Johnny around the arm. He remembered sitting on the top step of a set of stairs at Daniel LaRusso’s apartment, hearing his voice inside, hearing his mother’s responses, trying to gather the courage to knock on the door and apologize. 

He chased his courage around for an hour or two before he gave up on catching it and snuck down the stairs and out past the creaky gate. 

“Hey, idiot,” he said, clearing his throat when he heard how softly the words came out. “Welcome back.” 

“Shit,” Peak muttered, holding the side of his head, where he found a bandage. “I guess –”

“I told them you slipped,” Johnny reassured him. “So at least you don’t have that to worry about.” 

Peak’s hand dropped from Johnny’s arm to his hand, squeezing softly before retreating back to his own bed. “Thanks, man,” he murmured, closing his eyes again. “You saved me.” 

Johnny couldn’t shake the thought that he hadn’t actually saved Peak at all. He’d doomed him. Would Chapman have dumped water on him if Peak hadn’t been talking to Johnny? Would he have come into the barracks and called them fags if he hadn’t been in there with Johnny? Was Johnny so obviously diseased or wrong that even the people around him were casualties? 

Johnny let his head hang and looked away from his friend, down to his immaculately laced boots. “Let’s not make a habit of it.” 

***

Daniel clutched the little pile of mail in his hands. He had started checking the mailbox on a daily basis, wondering when he was going to get a letter from Kumiko, if he was going to get a letter from her. He didn’t know how long it took for a letter to get from Japan to the States, but still, he checked vigilantly every day, flipping through the letters before passing them off to Mr. Miyagi, disappointed and thoroughly uninterested in any of the notices that might have been addressed to him. 

He did so today, handing them off without really looking at anything but the postmark, walking halfway across the room before Mr. Miyagi called him back and passed him a letter, locally posted, with his name on the front. 

“What’s this?” he asked, as if Mr. Miyagi could tell him. His mentor shrugged and kept flipping through the envelopes, putting aside the bills and tossing the rest. 

Daniel wiggled his finger under the flap of the envelope and forced it open, realizing as he always did when he opened letters that he was bad at tearing them open. He had to wrestle the two-page letter out of the mangled envelope, and let his eyes scan over it hastily. 

“It’s from the All Valley Committee,” he said excitedly, tapping Mr. Miyagi on the shoulder. “They want me to come in and defend my title.” _His_ title, the letter read. He felt a rush of pride all over again just looking at the words. He remembered vividly how it felt in the days following the tournament, looking at the trophy, even if his knee was bandaged and he had to hobble around on crutches. He was injured, sure, but he had gotten injured doing something great, achieving something great. 

Mr. Miyagi hummed to show he was listening but continued trimming the bonsai in front of him, eyes not leaving the branches now that his mail had been abandoned. 

Daniel kept reading. “There’s a new rule that says the defending champion gets a bye right into the finals,” he said, incredulous. “That means I could go into the finals fresh, I could be a two-time champ!” 

But Mr. Miyagi didn’t even pause in his systematic trimming of the branches, didn’t even lift a shoulder to show his indifference. Daniel furrowed his brow, insecurity creeping in, and tried not to acknowledge it. Maybe Mr. Miyagi was just occupied – he wouldn’t willingly ignore him on purpose, right? 

***

Peak wasn’t released from the infirmary until after dinner. Johnny was just getting into his bunk when the time for lights out passed, and Peak’s bed was still empty. He stared at it, trying not to think too hard about why he was looking, and wondered aimlessly if someone had given Peak dinner. Had they figured out if he had a concussion? Did they give him a sandwich or something? Should he have tried to steal some food for him? 

He turned to stare at the bunk above him, the man in it already snoring, as he always did, and closed his eyes. Swimming in front of his eyelids was Daniel LaRusso’s face, screwed up in pain, the sweat running in a rivulet close to the crease of his eye, his mouth tight and dark pink. He pictured him like that a lot, writhing in agony, holding onto his knee. It felt like a nightly penance, looking at him like that in his memory, remembering how guilty he should have felt, remembering painfully that he felt guilt before the final match and after, but not during. 

He felt like that was an indicator that he was a bad person, that he could go into himself like that and cause pain and not feel something until after it was over. 

And then the bed beside him squeaked and his eyes flew open. Peak was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. 

“Peak,” Johnny whispered. “You’re back.” 

Peak looked up at him, brown eyes bright even in the dark, and chuckled. “Yeah, dummy. Of course I’m back. Where did you think I was going?” 

Johnny shrugged. He didn’t know where he thought Peak would be, spirited away to some other barracks, injured beyond recovery, something painful and tragic. But he was here, smiling down at him, with that ugly bandage on the side of his head, looking put together and whole and Johnny held out his hand for him, knowing as he did that this was a mistake, and he should pull his hand back, roll over, and go to sleep. 

But he didn’t, and Peak eagerly took it and slid over to Johnny’s bunk, dropping his knees to the hard, concrete floor so he could lean over and kiss him, quiet and secretive and firm, his thumb rubbing over Johnny’s knuckles, as if soothing the thundering in Johnny’s mind. He kissed him back knowing that he shouldn’t, his other hand holding onto the back of Peak’s neck, his hand brushing over the short dark hair. 

Johnny remembered a graduation party, and being shoved into a closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven, even though they were too old for that game now, and how people reached for each other in the dark, no question, no consideration, no fear. 

Peak got up from his knees and put one on the edge of the bed, his hand releasing Johnny to pin his shoulder to the bed, the springs just barely squeaking in the silence. Johnny pulled him closer by the back of his neck, humming in approval when Peak swung his other leg over to straddle him. 

It would be so easy to get lost in him, to push his hips up to meet him, to pretend – 

To pretend he was someone else. 

He released Peak’s neck and Peak understood him immediately. He sat back on Johnny’s hips and surveyed him plainly in the dark, eyes roving over his face. 

“Right,” he whispered, climbing off of him and going back to his own bunk. 

Johnny didn’t fall asleep for hours after. 

***

Daniel went to the shop with the letter from the All Valley in his back pocket. He hadn’t intended on bringing it with him, necessarily, he had just been looking at it when he looked at the clock and realized he was late. The shop was still full of dust and wood shavings, old broken chairs and just some bonsai. He picked up a broom and swept some of it, leaving a pile by the door. He looked up at the sound of a car passing and spotted a little pottery shop across the street.

He glanced back to Mr. Miyagi, who was wrapping wire around a stray branch. 

He considered bringing up the letter again, reminding Mr. Miyagi about the tournament, but the creeping insecurity that he felt the day before was still there, gnawing away at his insides like a parasite, and it killed his ability to speak. He stood there, wavering between purposes, unable to choose one. 

He knew Mr. Miyagi didn’t care about trophies or competitions, but surely he understood what the All Valley meant to him, right? He knew that the tournament was the first time that Daniel had stood up for himself in a way that was effective, right? He had to know that overcoming that obstacle was his greatest achievement. He was the smartest man Daniel knew. There was no way he didn’t know. 

“Um, you know, there’s a pottery shop across the street,” Daniel finally said, poking his thumb toward the open front door. “Maybe I can find a nice pot to put this one in.” He ran his finger over one of the leaves, glancing over to Mr. Miyagi. “What do you think?” 

“Hai,” Mr. Miyagi said, still concentrating on his task at hand. Daniel stepped away and, after a moment of wild courage, pulled the letter out of his back pocket and left it on the table beside him. 

“Here, I brought this letter from the All Valley so you could have another look at it. I still have a couple of weeks before the deadline, so…” he waited, but Mr. Miyagi didn’t speak. “I’m just…gonna go…” 

He pushed down the hurt in his chest on his short jog across the street. Mr. Miyagi was just concentrating – he’d look at the letter, and he’d definitely tell Daniel to sign up for the tournament. Daniel knew it. 

The front door to the pottery shop jingled when he opened it, but the synth music coming out of it drowned out the sound. Daniel crept in, poking his head around a corner to find the owner…and found a red-headed girl sitting at a stool, hands covered in clay, gently shaping the lip of a vase. 

“Hey, hello,” he said, trying not to startle her. She calmly looked over at him, her little ponytail swinging. 

She smiled, friendly and open. “Hi, there, so sorry about the music. Can you just…?” she motioned toward the radio, identical to Ali’s. Daniel suppressed a pang at the sight of it. 

He wondered what Johnny Lawrence was doing now. 

“Sure,” he said, shutting it off. He passed her a towel to clean her hands. “Daniel LaRusso,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Jessica Andrews,” she said, taking it and giving it a firm shake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely some homophobic language in here, so TW for that. Also content warning for a mention of drugging someone. Please read with caution!

Daniel was relieved to find that his powers of conversation hadn’t been completely lost since he got back from Okinawa – it was surprisingly easy to talk to Jessica, to make jokes about the picture of her ex-boyfriend on the wall with his face ripped out, to ask her about how to shape pottery. She was sweet, sassy in a way that reminded him more of Ali than of Kumiko. Maybe what he needed was to get back on the horse, so to speak, not that he would say that to the hypothetical horse in question. 

Who was looking at him with a tilted head, and _right_ , had he even said why he was still here? 

It took minimal effort to ask her out, but he found as he asked, that his determination to move on had flagged. But she was still smiling at him, so he threw caution to the wind and didn’t correct her. He was halfway across the street, squinting against the sun, when he realized that the only person he could tell about his date was Mr. Miyagi, who hadn’t seemed terribly interested in his life lately. 

He didn’t have any other friends, really, did he? Sure, Freddy was kind of around, but he was working at a butcher shop full time and they were more acquaintances than friends anyway. He stood on the sidewalk, looking at the rundown building of Mr. Miyagi’s Little Trees, and tried to name another friend.

He came up painfully empty. How had he never really noticed that he didn’t have friends? His mother always said that he felt things in excess. He was never annoyed; he was always furious. He never liked someone; he was always in love. He didn’t know how to do things by half, so when he was alone, he supposed he must be terribly lonely. And how lonely it was to stand on the street and not be able to name a single friend beyond the man who was also his mentor, business partner, and roommate. 

How long would it take before Mr. Miyagi was tired of him? Had that time already arrived?

He turned around and pushed the door to the pottery shop back open again and jogged inside. Making the decision was easy, but he wondered later if he’d miss the potential of something with Jessica. That was another thing his mother always talked about – the worry. He was a professional worry wart, she said, and he missed her suddenly.

“Jessica?” he asked. She had already gotten her hands dirty again. 

“That was quick,” she remarked. “What’s up?” 

He looked down at his shoes, shifting from foot-to-foot. “I was…wondering…” 

She furrowed her brows at him. “Okay…” 

“I was hoping you’d maybe like to go out with me as a friend instead of as a date,” he said, the words flying out so quick they might as well have been a foreign language. “I’m sorry if that’s…mixed signals or somethin’ –”

“No, Daniel, it’s fine,” she reassured him, wiping her hands on the towel hanging off her apron. “Really, I shouldn’t be out on dates so soon after my break up anyway. I’d like to be friends.” 

“You’re sure,” Daniel replied. “And you still want to…hang out tonight?” 

“I said I did, didn’t I?” she asked, confused. “You asking to be my friend instead doesn’t change that.” 

He smiled, pleased. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

***

Johnny never minded running. High school gym and Cobra Kai made it a necessity, and the Air Force continuing the tradition didn’t bother him. He wasn’t allowed to listen to music while he ran, so he often let his mind wander while he counted his breaths, counted his steps. It was second-nature, the speed and rhythmic nature of jogging. In the first two weeks of boot camp, he made it a goal to finish the five miles first in the pack. 

Now, only a day away from receiving his dog tags, he found that he was bored with the idea of coming in first. Now, his thoughts slowed him down. 

He could hear Peak’s breathing loud in his ear, the darkness of the bunks surrounding them, his hips small and slight under his hands – the knowing look in his eye when he slipped into his own bunk and turned over. We won’t speak of this, his eyes told him. 

He had kept his distance since that night, sitting at the same table for meals but not beside Peak, speaking only sparingly when they were working together. If this were high school, he could just shove him into a locker, punch him in the face, deal with it the way he knew how, but those options weren’t appealing anymore. 

He refused to be like Chapman. And it was no longer difficult for him to admit to himself that punching Peak in the face wouldn’t make him feel better. 

Maybe it was easier because he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone else. He didn’t have friends here, no one to see him looking in Peak’s direction and misunderstand his gaze. No one asked him why he was talking about him so much. No one told him that the only way to get this out of his system was to fight.

So distance it would have to be. But keeping his distance didn’t keep Peak out of his line of sight, and it didn’t keep him from being just vulnerable enough that Johnny worried that his distance would only get Peak into more trouble, this time without someone to call a medic when it was over. 

But he had to be strong, and he had to keep his distance. 

Still, he watched person after person pass him up on their run until he was sure the only one left at the back of the pack was Peak. He was always at the back of the pack. He told Johnny once he had weak ankles, and Johnny had snapped him with a towel because what kind of a pussy admission is that? But Peak had only laughed and said that even with weak ankles, he’d never failed to pass their running tests. 

He could speed up – he had the breath in his lungs, had the elasticity in his muscles to put him near the front, two paces behind Chapman and with very little effort, but still, he didn’t. He kept his slower pace, carefully measuring his breathing. It would be so easy to go faster – but his legs wouldn’t listen, and he found that he didn’t really mind.

He jogged in silence until the only sound he could hear was his own breathing and Peak’s. 

***

Daniel moved through the rest of his day on auto-pilot. He’d tried, one last time, to get Mr. Miyagi to look at the registration paperwork for the All Valley, reminding him as gently as he could (which was starting to approach aggressive) that he was proud of his win, that it was the first time he’d really been proud of anything, and upholding that legacy was really important to him. 

It did nothing to move his mentor, who still maintained that using karate for tournaments was misusing it. Daniel spent the rest of the afternoon in resentful silence that Mr. Miyagi did nothing to assuage, sweeping the dirty floor violently and moving bonsai from table to table just to use up the energy. He wanted Mr. Miyagi to ask him what was wrong, to see that this was really bothering him. 

But that wasn’t who Mr. Miyagi was. If he saw you being quiet, he assumed that you were being quiet for a reason, and he allowed you to have your space. Usually, Daniel was grateful for that understanding – now, he wanted that understanding thrown out. 

He wanted to keep at it, relentless, until Mr. Miyagi saw it his way, but how many times could he annoy the old man before Mr. Miyagi just stopped talking to him altogether? He didn’t think he would, but how many of his friends had slipped away, slowly extricated themselves from him, just to turn around and run for the hills? He wasn’t sure he could survive if Mr. Miyagi did that to him.

So he suffered in silence. He looked at the registration form and wrote his name in the blanks. He put it back down and loaded a couple of wilted bonsai in the truck and took them back to the house for emergency care. He looked at the form again. He unfolded it, folded it, and unfolded it again, until the paper was gray and weak along with fold lines, a reckless move away from a tear. He felt rather like the paper. 

He took a shower and thought about the damn tournament in there, too. 

By the time he was finished, he realized that he couldn’t keep doing this. He’d moved through the entire day in a fog, angry and confused, and he’d wasted hours that he’d never get back caring about something that clearly wasn’t in the cards. He looked in the mirror and said the words. 

“I’m not going to defend my title.” 

It was a weight off of his shoulders, even if it still didn’t feel right in his gut. Sometimes, he reasoned as he hummed, his gut was bound to be wrong. Surely, if he didn’t have to think about it anymore, things with Mr. Miyagi would go back to normal, right? 

And that was more important than any trophy. 

He had just gotten dressed when he heard Mr. Miyagi come home, quiet footsteps on the wooden floor. He trotted over from his rooms, holding the folded registration form. He saw Mr. Miyagi’s eyes go to the paper warily, like he was prepared to argue one more time for skipping it. 

“I made a decision,” Daniel said before he could say anything. “I’m not going to defend my title.” 

Mr. Miyagi blinked up at him. “You’re not.” 

“I’m not,” Daniel confirmed. “I understand what you mean, that our karate is not supposed to be used to win tournaments, okay, and I hear you, you’re right. I was…I was being selfish, trying to do this again. I don’t want –” I don’t want to lose you. “I don’t want to defend it,” he said instead. “Look, watch.” 

He clicked the lighter on the counter, beside the incense, and lit the registration form on fire. Mr. Miyagi watched the paper catch, the yellow flame licking up over the words, and grinned at him. Daniel dropped it into the fireplace and let it smoke there. 

“You going on date tonight?” Mr. Miyagi asked, the registration form already forgotten. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel said, as they stepped out into the garden. “Just friends, though.” 

As he was closing the door, he thought he heard the sound of boots. 

***

Dinner the next night was full of energy. Johnny could hear different cadets whispering to each other between mouthfuls about their dog tags, about what they stood for, how excited they were that they would finally be allowed to party after the ceremony. He listened without really listening. He wanted the opportunity to blow off steam, sure, but there wasn’t anyone here he wanted to party with – no one who would care that he had dog tags. 

He sat down on the corner of a bench and ignored that Peak was sitting across from him at the other end of the bench. Peak looked up at him and blinked before going back to his food, Johnny barely catching what looked like a smile before it was gone. 

He ate in silence, pausing only once to flick over a huge chunk of carrot to Peak’s plate, their typical routine. Johnny would get Peak’s green beans, Peak would get Johnny’s carrots. That was the nature of the meal, and it reminded him of school. He was almost a child in those moments, wrinkling his nose at a vegetable, trading with a friend. 

“Aww, look, the boyfriends are fighting,” Chapman dropped his metal tray onto the table, laughing with Peak flinched at the sound. He swung his leg over and sat, so close to Peak that he didn’t even bother to hide his nerves, his brown eyes huge and looking over in Johnny’s direction. Chapman’s friends jeered in encouragement and took the other open seats directly across from Peak, pinning him in place between the wall and their oppressive laughter. 

“What?” Chapman goaded, looking over at Johnny. “You’re just going to sit there? Let us disrespect your little girlfriend?” His mouth, wide in a smile, tightened into something malicious. “If you’re not careful, someone’s going to think he’s available. Steal him away from you.” 

Johnny’s hand tightened on his spoon, but he still didn’t speak. Chapman thought that self-imposed silence was hilarious. 

“You fucking fags,” he said, standing up and smacking Peak in the back of the head. 

Johnny was on his feet before he could tell himself to stop. He realized it as Chapman tilted his head at him, a clear invitation. 

“What are you going to do about it, fairy?” he asked. “Defend your girlfriend’s honor?” 

“Lawrence –”

“Shut up, Peak,” Johnny hissed. 

“Ooh, so he does speak,” Chapman needled. “Got anything else to say?” He sauntered over, his meal forgotten on the table, and it was untouched, like he wasn’t worried about missing a meal, or losing out on food, or following the goddamn rules. “You fucking queer –”

Johnny barely managed to control his hands before he shoved Chapman away and out of his space. But they couldn’t fight – unless they wanted to be dismissed. 

“Fuck off, Chapman,” he said instead, lowering his hands down to his sides, where they tightened into fists. Chapman watched it happen, like he was tracking his own success. His eyes were sparkling, enthused by the possibility of violence that he could blame on someone else. 

“You know what they say, Lawrence,” he said nonchalantly. “Make me.” 

***

Jessica lived in a little apartment above the pottery shop – she met him at the door on the ground floor, in a pink puffy jacket, her hair tied back in a bushy ponytail. Daniel grinned at her – he still didn’t feel quite right about the form in the fireplace, but he was determined that he would live with the decision he made, and he would make the best of it. 

She seemed to sense that something wasn’t right. “You alright?” she slipped her arm into his when her shoe slid on some loose gravel. “You seem a little…off.” 

“Perceptive,” he admitted. “Just working through some stuff, nothing important.” 

_Liar._

“Okay,” she said. “Where are we going?” 

“I thought maybe dinner,” Daniel shrugged. “See if there’s a movie we want to catch. Nothing too stressful.” 

Jessica hummed in agreement. “I’d like that.” 

“Hey, do you want to meet my business partner?” Daniel asked, catching sight of Mr. Miyagi outside the shop, sweeping the extra sawdust off the steps. “Before we go?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Jessica shrugged. 

“He’s the greatest,” Daniel said, looking both ways before leading Jessica across the street. “Mr. Miyagi is my best friend.” 

“Why do you call him _mister_?” Jessica asked. 

“Well, he’s also my mentor and my karate teacher,” Daniel explained. “But he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.” Mr. Miyagi had heard them approaching and was watching them with a knowing smile. “Mr. Miyagi, this is Jessica Andrews, from across the street.” 

“Nice to meet you,” she said, offering her hand to shake. 

“Jessica is going to make those pots for us,” Daniel reminded him. 

“Oh, thank you,” Mr. Miyagi said to her. 

“Yeah, no problem. Welcome to the neighborhood. How’s it going to far?” she asked politely. “Good?” 

“I never know retirement mean such hard work,” Mr. Miyagi said, pulling a laugh from Jessica. Daniel watched him with a half-smile. He seemed almost back to normal, now that Daniel had gotten rid of the registration form. “You want to see inside shop?” 

“I’d love to.” 

“Partner, show her,” Mr. Miyagi said, throwing him an exaggerated wink when Jessica looked away. Daniel rolled his eyes and led her inside. “Don’t forget lock up.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t,” Daniel said, pushing open the door while Jessica waved at Mr. Miyagi one last time before he got in his truck. “You see why I call him _mister_?” 

“He’s nice,” she said, stepping past the threshold and into the store. Daniel watched her eyes take it in, suddenly insecure. He and Mr. Miyagi had done a lot of work on the place since they got the lease, but it was still a dingy, dirty place. No amount of constant sweeping would be able to hide that. He remembered the warmth of Jessica’s store, the decorations, the boombox. 

By comparison, their place looked like a dump.

“What do you think?” he asked, a glutton for punishment. 

“I think it’s –”

“It needs a little work, but –”

“It’s going to be great,” she reassured him. “Where did you meet him?” 

“Oh, when I first got here, he started teaching me karate,” he said, turning away from the dirty tables to look back at Jessica, who was barely brushing her fingers over the leaves on one of the bonsai.

“Karate?” she asked, a laugh in her voice. Insecurity scuttled around under Daniel’s skin again. “You do karate?” 

“Yeah,” he said, trying to hide the defensiveness. 

“He doesn’t really look like a karate teacher.” 

“Doesn’t really act like it either,” Daniel said, the bitterness in the statement surprising him. He hastened to correct himself, especially when Jessica cocked her head at him. “Like, half the time he was teaching me, I didn’t even know what I was learning. Like…everything was a lesson, you know?” 

She shook her head, but she was smiling. He took that as a good sign. 

“Like you know how you were making that vase? He’d make a whole lesson out of that, watch, come here for a second.” He arranged her in front of him, feeling a little thrill at the idea of doing anything related to karate again. “Okay now your hands went up, right, like this?” he created a little parabola shape with his hands. “And then back down, right?” 

She nodded, biting her lower lip in concentration. 

“Okay, now do it again,” she followed the movements easily. “Right, now I’m a mugger alright? Hands up, grab the back of my head, and hands down, bring your knee up.” It would be an easy knee to the face. He laughed, triumphant, feeling lighter than he had in days. 

“Room for any more down there?” 

They jumped apart, Daniel brushing his longer hair out of his face. “Um, hey, fellas, we’re not open.” 

“The door was,” one of the four guys said, jerking his thumb toward the open door. A pit opened in Daniel’s stomach. He didn’t have to have experience getting his ass kicked to know that when guys that look like these come in without an invitation, things were probably going to go poorly. 

Or maybe he was being paranoid. 

“I meant for business, pal,” he said flatly. 

“I didn’t come here for business,” the tallest one said, towering over him. “I came here to talk to you.”

“We heard you weren’t entering the All Valley this year,” the fatter one by the door said. 

“That true, Daniel?” the tall one asked. Daniel turned his gaze back to him. Clearly he was the one Daniel had to worry about. He was reminded of looking up at Johnny on that beach last summer, except when he looked up at Johnny, it was a challenge. This wasn’t a challenge, it was a beat down waiting to happen. 

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked. Only Mr. Miyagi knew, and he certainly wasn’t telling the whole city. 

“Is it true?” he pressed, stepping forward. Daniel held his ground stubbornly. 

“Yeah, it’s true, so what?” 

“We'd like you to reconsider,” the other guy said. He was moving closer, farther away from the door, closer to Jessica. She watched him warily, her hand by her waist twitching like she didn’t know what to do with it. 

“Is that why you guys came down here?” Daniel asked. “Because –”

“I need your title,” the taller one interrupted. 

He was even closer now, so close that Daniel could barely see him without crossing his eyes. Still, he refused to give up ground. “Then enter the tournament and go for it,” he said with a shrug. 

The tall guy watched the shrug like he was tracking movements. “Maybe you didn't hear me. I need your title. You don't enter, and that effects my financial future. I won't let that happen. _Get it_?” He was poking him now, firm index finger jabbing into Daniel’s chest over and over again. 

Daniel shoved his hand away. “I have nothing to prove. I have no reason to fight,” he felt like he was parroting Mr. Miyagi’s words without the feeling. Even now, when he needed to be convincing, it didn’t feel convincing. 

“I do. I got some money to make,” the guy said. What the _hell_ did that even mean? Daniel didn’t care about money, and no one won money at the All Valley anyway, unless you were gambling on it. The guy turned to one of his goons, who were standing by the door like they were guarding it. “Give me the application.”

Daniel watched them move closer, sharks circling prey. He was so fucking tired of being the prey. “Forget it. I'm not going to fight.” 

“Sign it!” the demand was punctuated by a punch to his stomach, and Daniel doubled over, gasping, trying to keep all four guys in his line of sight while still easing the pain. The tallest one of the guys just forced the paper into his face again, a pen in his other hand, still curled into a fist. “You sign it, man!”

“Daniel!” Jessica cried and she was holding onto his arms, as if that would help hold him up, but he threw out one arm to keep her behind him. He didn’t know these guys – he knew Johnny would never hit a girl, even when he didn’t know him at all, but he couldn’t say the same for these guys. 

They were different, he could feel it. 

Blood rushed in his ears, heartbeat thudding like he’d been sprinting, and the pain in his stomach was abating but leaving behind a sick, anxious feeling that he couldn’t swallow down. He didn’t want to fight anymore, he thought irrationally. He was tired of being forced to fight. 

“Come on, man! Right now!” the tall guy was yelling a steady stream of abuse from above him, but the fatter one looked at him appraisingly and stepped back. 

“Let LaRusso sleep on it,” he said. When the tall one didn’t move, he added, “Come on. Mike!”

Mike leaned down, into Daniel’s face. “Yeah, you sleep on it. And you can dream about me.” 

***

Johnny felt like he slept standing up through the ceremony that gave him the dog tags he now had hanging around his neck. He didn’t care much for the pomp and the brass instruments. It felt like putting a Band-Aid over a wound so big it needed stitches. Why were people sitting in chairs to watch them get dog tags like they weren’t treated like prisoners every day? Where was the honor in this? 

Or maybe he just wasn’t built for this place after all. Maybe he was just mad that there was no one in the chairs for him. Hell, even Peak’s mother was there, clutching a bright red purse, waving at him from the back row when the commander called his name. 

He felt like he woke up at a dark bar, where he could see the members of his bunk scattered to the corners, drinking and dancing and flirting. He wondered if they were bad at it after so long with only each other for company. He leaned against the bar and sipped his beer, looking for a girl that would keep his attention out of the corner of his eye. 

No one stood out to him, probably because the lights were so bright he couldn’t look at someone for too long anyway. He was about to give up when he caught sight of a dark-haired girl at the bar, talking to… _shit_ , talking to Chapman. 

He disregarded her immediately. He wasn’t about to get into a fight with Chapman over a girl he didn’t know. He looked around the room for Peak. He hadn’t seen him yet. 

When he looked back, the girl was looking at him again, a slight smile on her face. He gave her a nod and looked away again. Don’t encourage her, he thought. Save your skin for another week and then you’ll be home free. 

Except movement caught his eye and he looked back. The girl was turned in the other direction, talking to her friend, a redhead, their heads bent close. Chapman was leaning against the bar, holding her drink. 

As he watched, Johnny saw Chapman take a pill out of a bag and drop it in the drink. 

Shit. He looked away again, back to the bar. It wasn’t his business what kind of skeevy shit Chapman got up to, right? Clearly he thought he could do whatever he liked. 

And then he saw the girl take the drink from Chapman and give him a flirty wink before lifting it to her mouth. 

He lunged, muscle memory more than an active choice, and knocked the drink out of her hand and all over the floor, all over her skirt, her friend’s purse, and Chapman’s pants. Everything that happened after was a painful blur.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning in this chapter for the word r*pe, for graphic violence, and for Terry Silver's first appearance. 
> 
> The first two content warnings are very serious, the third is kind of a joke but still! Be aware!

The redheaded girl had pink liquid splashed all over her white shirt, her hands lifted, her mouth open, surprise and shock twisting her features. Johnny was still moving – _he put something in it_ , he tried to say, but the music was so loud he didn’t know if she heard him – and then he was pushing her backward, out of the way of Chapman’s swinging fist, catching it himself on the chin. He could hear her scream in his ear and thrust out one of his hands to push her farther back, closer to her friends.

It had been a long time since he’d been hit for real – it felt like someone rang a bell by his ears and let it go. He shook his head, trying to knock the sound loose, and almost missed the chance to dodge Chapman’s next swing. He looked like a madman – he had his teeth bared and a sneer was contorting his mouth. He looked like one of the kids he had to fight in the All Valley when he was a freshman; the kid was huge and wide and built and he cracked two of Johnny’s ribs with one kick. Johnny fought through the rest of the match with one hand curled protectively over his middle, and on the last point, the kid aimed specifically for it. He left with his cracked ribs and a fractured arm. 

Chapman’s swing was rough, hard to follow and harder to respond to in the darkness, with the bright lights, but by now, Johnny had been in enough fights to know how to let muscle memory take over. 

That’s how he landed the first spin kick. Chapman stumbled backward and landed on the barstool behind him. It wobbled but didn’t fall over until he stood up again. The bartender was shouting something at him, but Johnny couldn’t hear him. It was painfully easy to let Kreese’s voice take over, a quiet _“the enemy deserves no mercy”_ chanting quietly in the back of his head. 

He let the wave of his sensei’s voice carry him away; it was almost like he was watching himself from across the bar, the way he went from a fighting stance into a deadly series of moves that Chapman could barely block, let alone counter. He could hear people yelling, could hear the girl screaming, but it didn’t matter. 

It didn’t matter until Peak slammed into his shoulder and tried to pull him off, and then his observant self and his real self came together and he realized that Chapman was on the ground, feebly trying to protect his face, and Johnny’s knuckles were bleeding, dripping blood onto Chapman’s arms. Blood marred Chapman’s face – he wasn’t the same person that started this fight, not with his eye socket swelling like that and the clean break in his nose. He coughed, and blood came out of his mouth, splattering on Johnny’s face.

Peak was pulling him by one arm, and he had a split lip. When had that happened? Had he done it? But Peak didn’t look afraid of him – he had squared his shoulders and was saying firmly in his ear “you’ve gotta let him go, Johnny, come on, you’re gonna kill him.” 

He stumbled back, almost knocking Peak over, and straightened up. The music was still playing but the people were painfully silent. Everyone had stopped moving, and they were all watching, horror distorting their features. Even the other soldiers looked disgusted. 

“We called the police,” the bartender announced, as if Johnny couldn’t figure that out on his own. 

“Come on,” Peak was still holding onto his arm, and Johnny swayed on his feet, pain coming back into his face but mostly in his knuckles. His hands hurt, like he’d been breaking boards before he was ready – a phantom memory pain that he kept locked away. He could feel, in an absent, tired way, that one of his hands was probably broken. “Johnny, come on.” 

The girl was standing at the door, her friend feebly trying to get the drink out of her shirt. Johnny stopped at her side and was disappointed to see fear in her face when she met his eyes. She was afraid of him. 

“He put something in your drink,” he said, his voice ragged, his breathing uneven. “That’s – that’s why –”

“Then he deserved what he got,” she said, the fear fading from her eyes. 

The police lights turned her hair a weird color, and Johnny leaned against the door outside to wait. Kreese’s voice had faded, and now all he felt was sick – he leaned away from Peak and threw up onto the asphalt below, trying to ignore Peak’s hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing a soothing circle into them.

***

Daniel loved doing kata. He knew the moves by heart, and he never felt like he was screwing them up. He could just feel the expansion of his lungs and let his body move. It was like dancing, except he never had to worry about having a partner. And perhaps that was why he enjoyed kata – in his isolation, he could still do what made him feel good. 

This time, he had Mr. Miyagi beside him. He didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially after Mike Whoever walked into his business and demanded that he enter the tournament, but having him here felt like some kind of reward, like Daniel had stood his ground, had thrown away the All Valley registration form and this was what he got in return. A companion to stand beside him in the sunlight of the early morning. 

Daniel didn’t want much, but he did want this. 

He heard the gate click open but didn’t turn to look until he heard someone clear their throat. He and Mr. Miyagi looked over at the same time – a tall, willowy man with a ponytail was standing on the deck, hands clasped in front of him. 

“Excuse me,” the man said, and Daniel caught a glimpse of straight, white teeth. “Mr. Miyagi?” Mr. Miyagi nodded and the man stepped closer. Daniel had to crane his neck to see all of him at once – he was taller than any man he’d ever met, and the dark ponytail only served to make him look taller. “My name is Terry Silver. My master is Kim San Jang of South Korea.” Mr. Miyagi bowed, and Daniel followed. 

He watched Terry Silver’s eyes land on him and appraise, like he was looking at a vintage car, or a meal. He swallowed, turning his eyes away. 

“My teacher sends his respects,” Silver continued. Daniel studied the pattern of the grass on the ground instead of looking at him. Something about him was enticing, like he was unknowable, but his voice still sounded kind. “John Kreese of the Cobra Kai dojo was our school's number one student.” 

Daniel’s head snapped up at that, and he caught Silver looking at him again, something sparkling in his eye like excitement. He blushed at the weight of his gaze, but refused to look away.

“Word reached us in Korea only two months ago...” he paused, and this time, his eyes on Daniel were soft. “About what happened last year at the tournament.” He gave Daniel a nod, like an apology before the spoken one that Daniel was sure would follow. “My teacher sends his apologies for John Kreese's dishonorable actions.”

He said it to Daniel, but at the end of the sentence, he turned his gaze to Mr. Miyagi, who inclined his head again. “Accept apology.”

Daniel bristled. He didn’t speak, but he felt Silver look over at him again. Mr. Miyagi could accept the apology all he wanted, but Daniel didn’t. It was Daniel’s knee that had been destroyed in that tournament, his senior year that had been tormented because of Kreese’s no mercy policy. No, he didn’t accept the apology. 

“I was sent here to help John regain balance,” Silver said, and Daniel had to cover his mouth and cough to avoid scoffing. Mr. Miyagi glanced over at him for only a second before he turned back to Silver.

“Hope you can be successful.”

This was feeling increasingly like a conversation that had everything to do with Daniel, and yet he still wasn’t welcome in it. He shifted on his feet, trying not to feel annoyed.

“Unfortunately, I arrived too late.” Daniel felt Silver’s eyes on him again, but he was looking out toward the house and refused to meet his gaze. He was listening so closely he wondered if it showed on his face. “I buried John last week.”

The words came out before he realized he was speaking. “He's dead? What happened?”

Silver looked over at him like he was pleased to hear his voice. Daniel didn’t know how to take that, but his stomach twisted like he enjoyed it. “His doctor said it was cardiac arrest, but I knew John better than anyone. Karate was his life. And after he lost all his students, it just broke his heart.” 

_Sensei stop! You’re going to kill him._

Daniel wondered if Silver could see that he didn’t feel as sorry as he hoped he would. A man was dead – he should feel sad, or sorry. But he didn’t. He didn’t feel much of anything at all. 

Silver was still talking, looking directly at Daniel now, appealing to him instead of Mr. Miyagi. That eye contact made Daniel feel important, like he was the one Silver really came to apologize to. “John was a hero. He wasn't always like what you saw. He saved my life in Vietnam. War does something to a man. You had to have been there to know what I mean.” 

Mr. Miyagi nodded toward the ground. “Have been. Do know.”

The sound of his voice made Daniel feel guilty for begrudging him the attention. He swallowed and tightened his jaw. 

“442nd?” Silver asked, his face brightening when Mr. Miyagi nodded. “Man! More medals of Honor came out of the 442nd than all World War II put together.” His face went solemn. “I bet you've been there.”

He turned to Daniel more completely and looked him up and down again. Self-consciously, Daniel straightened his back and lifted his chin. Silver looked pleased by that movement, and for a moment, Daniel wondered what it would be like to have someone in his life who so easily showed when he was happy with something. 

“Is this your student? The champion?”

 _Champion_ brought a momentary smile to Daniel’s face, and he saw that Silver caught it. He rearranged his face into something humbler. 

“Yes.” 

He extended his hand and Daniel took it, feeling Silver’s fingers press into his palm before he took his hand back. It was nothing like a normal handshake. It was something more, a secret that Daniel couldn’t decipher, a promise of some kind. Either way, it lit his insides on fire, and he couldn’t decide if it was fear or something else burning there. 

“Our apologies to you, too,” he said. “John had vowed to come and apologize himself. He planned...” he looked away, and then back to Daniel. “Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry to interrupt your training.” 

He backed away like he was leaving. Daniel watched the careful way he moved, and was reminded of a panther. 

“Mr. Silver...” Mr. Miyagi called him back. “Very sorry to hear about death of friend.”

“Me too,” Daniel said, because to not say it felt wrong. 

Silver looked over at him and smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and then he was gone, back out the way he came. 

“God, that's too bad,” Daniel said, because now that Terry was gone, it felt like the air had come back into the room, and he could feel the guilt that he knew he didn’t really deserve. He wondered, now that the news was sinking in, Kreese was dead, if he should track down Johnny Lawrence and tell him. 

He knew he quit Cobra Kai after the tournament, and Silver confirmed it. But would someone have already told him? Maybe he could call Ali later and ask for his number. 

“Too bad, Daniel-san,” Mr. Miyagi agreed. “Come, we continue kata.”

***

Johnny expected to spend the night in jail. Drunk tank, at least, even if he wasn’t drunk. But he was only in an empty cell for two hours before an officer was coming in to get him, muttering something about _damn military brats_ , and he put cuffs around Johnny’s wrists just to walk him to the front door and take them off again. He could barely get the cuff around Johnny’s swollen hand, already turning a terrible ugly purple color. 

His commanding officer met him right outside the door, and Johnny’s gut tightened. He knew trouble when he saw it. He didn’t bother to stand at attention or salute – he was too tired and in too much pain. The ache in his hand was like several ice picks jabbing through tender flesh down to the muscle beneath. 

He was directed to a car, and the ride back to base was silent. He didn’t have anything to say to the man in the car with him. He only knew him as General – he’d only seen him at ceremonies, after all. 

When the car parked, the man jerked his head toward a nondescript building with no one but them parked in front. It was only four in the morning – everyone else was getting up for their runs. The place was dark and cold – the General turned on the lights and rubbed his hands together, big, rough, calloused hands with swollen knuckles that cracked when he squeezed too hard. 

“I assume you know what’s about to happen?” he asked when they got into his office, Johnny standing on the bad side of the desk, between the two chairs.

“Sir, no sir,” Johnny said, and his voice was still rough, hoarse from yelling over the music. 

“You attacked a fellow airman,” the General said. “In a public place. You disgraced your fellow men. You behaved irresponsibly.” 

“He tried to date-rape that girl,” Johnny muttered. 

“So you report it to me,” the General answered calmly, like he wasn’t even surprised. Johnny tightened his jaw and told himself not to speak. 

And then he spoke anyway. “So you would rather I report it so the girl can get raped in the meantime?” he asked. “I think he got exactly what he deserved.” 

“You broke his eye socket, his cheekbone, his nose, and knocked out two teeth,” the General let his other comment slide by without acknowledging it. “He will need several surgeries.” 

Johnny tried to ignore the throbbing in his hand. No one had even bothered to look at it yet. “Better than what he would have done to that girl.” 

“It is not your place to mete out punishment,” the General stood up from his seat, leaning over the desk. “It is against regulations to make a public spectacle of yourself. It is against regulations to fight outside of a training exercise. You broke the law.” 

Johnny had never been good with dealing with unfair situations. He knew when he deserved punishment, when he earned a beating. He was taught to challenge what was unfair. The military tried to train it out of him. He supposed it was obvious now, too late, that he didn’t really belong here. 

“You are being discharged,” the General said when Johnny didn’t speak. “There will be no court-martial. We convinced Chapman that this would be better handled quietly. You are being presented with a less-than-honorable discharge.” 

“What does that mean?” he mumbled. The pain was starting to ring louder, louder than whatever the General was saying. 

“That means…Mr. Lawrence, that you have been removed from the Air Force ranks,” the General said. “You will leave the base immediately. The records of your enlistment will be sealed, but should you attempt to join another branch, the records can be opened and viewed.” 

The ringing got louder. 

***

Daniel was trying not to think about Terry Silver when Jessica nudged the door to the shop open, carrying a bag and a pot, painted a rusted red color. He grinned at her, trying not to think about how she’d be gone soon, back to Ohio, and he’d be alone again. 

“Hello?” she called out, waving two fingers at him. “Eat yet?”

“No, I haven't,” he said, setting the broom aside and trotting over to help her with the bag. 

“I was supposed to dine with my Aunt Pat. She owns the shop. She had to do some things, so I got stuck with all this macaroni and cheese.” She pulled a stack of two Tupperware bowls out of the bag, and a little folded napkin with silverware. 

“Macaroni and cheese?” he asked incredulously, enjoying the way her face lit up at his tone. “You know what I like! I grew up on macaroni and cheese. I never say no when it comes to macaroni and cheese.” He pulled up a stool and set it out for her. “Here, have a seat.”

She laughed, taking the seat. “Thanks.”

“I used to eat this stuff by the ton,” he said, thinking of standing on the little stepstool beside his dad, stirring the noodles while his father tried to catch his breath. He shook the thought loose. 

“I want you to try this, okay?” she asked as he dug his fork into the still steaming pile of mac and cheese. “And be honest.”

“Okay,” he said, chewing pensively. He could see her anxiety in the lines of her face. “On a scale of one to ten, I'd give this an…eleven.”

She smiled happily and stood up again, picking up the little pot by the door. “I hope you like this. I'm not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, but...”

“Hey, this came out great,” he said, tracing his finger over the shiny, embossed tree. “Look at the tree. You got it just right. Wait until Mr. Miyagi sees it.”

“Do you think he'll like it?” she asked, her fork hovering in front of her mouth. 

“Like it? He's gonna love it,” he smiled when she took her first bite, the nerves finally melting off her face. “Here. I have something for you,” he said, pulling two tickets out of his back pocket and passing them over. “It's a dance club,” he said, watching her face closely. “It's got live music. It's for the night before you go back home. I figured it would be a nice going-away present.” 

“Daniel, that is so sweet,” she said, carefully tucking the tickets into her pocket. He grinned at her, thinking that he was pretty lucky right now, sitting here in a business he owned with a friend who was actually his friend. 

And then the lights went out. 

He didn’t have to see their faces to know that Mike and his friends were back. He could hear their laughter, could hear four sets of footsteps on the floor. “Come on, guys. This isn't funny anymore. Come on, turn on the lights,” he said, going for calm. He didn’t have to see Jessica’s face to know he didn’t really succeed. 

“Danny, I hope you got some good news for my friend Mike here,” one of the goons said, getting up close enough that Daniel stumbled back a step, just far enough to see them all completely. Mike was looming closer now, watching him. 

“I hope so too, Daniel,” he said, and he said it so genuinely that Daniel almost believed him. But his eyes were shining, bright and too excited in the darkness. 

“I told you. I can't help you. Forget about it.” Mike turned away from him and went over to the table, where he’d left the old application they left. “Where are you going?” 

“You haven't signed the application yet,” he said.

“I'm not signing the application. I won't compete. Take your friends and get out of here,” Daniel said, trying to be firm, trying to find a way to get Jessica to get behind him, hell, to even go out the back door and leave without saying anything. 

“Dennis, he didn't sign it yet.”

“Come on, guys. This is getting out of hand now. I'm not signing the application.”

“Sure you are,” Mike said. 

“I'm not going to be there,” Daniel said. “You're wasting your time.”

And then they turned away from him and Daniel had this optimistic, naïve moment where he thought they might actually leave, might actually go away, but then they were breaking the screens, breaking everything they found, even snapping the broom over their legs, and he was shouting, words he didn’t even understand, and Jessica was saying something, and one of the goons grabbed her and punched her in the stomach. 

He didn’t remember when he started fighting, just that he landed one kick and then Mike was fighting back and he was so fast, so painfully fast that Daniel couldn’t even see what he was going to do before he was in pain, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw air, couldn’t protect Jessica, couldn’t do anything. 

It was Mr. Miyagi who saved them, just like he saved Daniel on Halloween his senior year. Daniel watched through hazy eyes as he fought off Mike and his friends, how the other guys jeered at him, and turned his gaze to Jessica, who was on the floor, still clutching her stomach, and he felt guilty, painfully guilty that she was feeling this pain at all. 

If she wasn’t his friend, she wouldn’t be in pain. 

Mr. Miyagi helped him up from the floor and checked his face, fingers gently probing the skin. “So, Daniel-san, time take Jessica home,” he said. 

Daniel held onto her arm, but she was already standing, her face red. “Yeah. Jessica, you all right?” he asked. 

“Yeah. I just want to lie down,” she said, but she held onto Daniel’s arm and let him take her across the street to her apartment. 

***

Johnny didn’t have much to pack; they don’t let you bring much to boot camp anyway. So he carefully put the clothes into the sack and his extra toothbrushes and decided to steal the pillow when he was finished. It took him longer than he’d like to pack it all with one hand – the other one was useless now, too swollen and in too much pain to be useful. 

He was stalling, moving slower than necessary because – and then the door to the barracks opened, and he recognized Peak’s footsteps on the concrete floor. 

“You’re discharged?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You, and not Chapman?” 

Johnny shrugged. “He has connections,” he explained, as if that made it better. “I don’t belong here anyway,” he said. 

Peak sat down on his bed, staring at Johnny’s packed bag. “So…you’re leaving. Right now?” 

“That’s what they tell me,” Johnny said flatly. “Hey, look,” he turned back to Peak, who was already looking up at him, a sad wrinkle in his brow that made Johnny’s chest hurt. “Wait until you hear where Chapman asks to be stationed and pick somewhere far away from that,” he said. “You’ve only got a few more days before you’ll never have to see him again.” 

Peak laughed under his breath. “That’s what you care about right now? Johnny, your hand is broken. You’re being kicked out.” 

“And Chapman is going to jump on your ass tomorrow,” he argued. “And who is going to be there to take you to medical when you fight back like an idiot?” 

“You mean when I fight back like you?” Peak asked, raising his eyebrows. 

Johnny sighed. “Yeah, like me.” 

“You don’t deserve this,” Peak muttered. “This is bullshit.” 

Johnny sat down beside him and looked over at his packed bag so he wouldn’t have to look at Peak’s sad face anymore. “Yeah, it is,” he said. “Who am I going to give my carrots to now?” 

Peak sighed, dropping his head to Johnny’s shoulder, and Johnny leaned into him, closing his eyes. He counted to five before tilting Peak’s chin up for one last kiss, chaste and simple and probably anti-climactic, and then stood up, cradling his broken hand against his stomach and picking up the bag. 

“Get out of this place as soon as you can,” he said. “Call me if you’re ever in California.” 

***

Daniel sat beside Mr. Miyagi in the truck, poking gently at his face, trying to find the bruises before they popped up. Mr. Miyagi let the silence hold for a moment before he started singing, and instantly, Daniel felt words crawling up his throat. 

“I can't believe you're singing. Forget it,” he said, trying to keep the anger in check. 

“Feel lucky, Daniel-san.”

“Lucky?” he asked incredulously. “How could you feel lucky?”

“Feel lucky. Bonsai tree not in shop. Safe at home. That makes us real lucky,” Mr. Miyagi explained and yeah, that was true, but he had just gotten his ass kicked. His friend got punched. He was being followed, tormented. How did Mr. Miyagi not get that? 

“I never felt luckier in my life,” he said sarcastically. 

“Daniel-san, we can rebuild the shop. Cannot rebuild stock. We sell a few trees, fix shoji screen, start over again.”

“What if those guys come back again? What are we going to do then?” he asked, the anger now bleeding through his carefully-constructed flat voice. 

“Sing happy song.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence, Daniel refusing to speak and Mr. Miyagi humming under his breath. He focused, instead, on his breathing. He didn’t need to be angry, right? Wasn’t that what Mr. Miyagi was trying to teach him? 

But he was angry, and he deserved to be. He couldn’t put that aside. And it only compounded when they got back home and realized that the bonsai were all gone. 

“Where are the trees?” he asked, looking through the house and back into the garden. Empty shelves, empty truck. “They stole them! I can't believe it. They stole the trees.” Mr. Miyagi walked past him toward the shed, Daniel following behind. “Don't they get it? I'm not going to sign this thing. Mr. Miyagi, what are we going to do?” He ripped the registration form in half and let it flutter to the floor. Mr. Miyagi still didn’t speak. “Where are you going?”

“Get fishing pole.”

“What?” he could hear his blood in his ears, the anger threatening to overtake him in a way that he hadn’t felt since before Mr. Miyagi came into his life. He waited for him to explain, to offer advice, but he just grabbed the pole and kept going, walking toward the truck. “Sometimes I don't get you. The shop's wrecked. We've just been robbed, and you're going fishing. We're flat broke and you're going fishing.”

Mr. Miyagi didn’t speak. Daniel clenched his hands into fists so tight he could feel his nails digging into his palms, the tender flesh lighting up with pain. “You're just going to blow it off? Doesn't this even bother you?”

“Daniel-san, sometime better be bothered on full stomach than empty one.”

“Great, another great thought, huh? That really does me good.” He was moving past anger to frustration, and he could feel the tears stinging his eyes. He just didn’t _get it_. What were they going to do? How was he not worried? How was Daniel the only one who couldn’t see how they were going to pay the bills next month, much less how they were going to handle Mike and his crew of goons? 

Mr. Miyagi just kept walking, and Daniel felt the tightness in his chest from forcing the tears down start to ache with more intensity. “You go fishing,” he said, bordering on a shout. “I'm going to the police to report it. Show them the application so they can arrest these jerks.” He climbed into his car but didn’t turn it on. You can't be so damn passive. Somebody's gotta do something about these guys.”

He watched Mr. Miyagi drive away in the truck to fish and sat in the front seat of his car, hands clenched tightly in the steering wheel. It wasn’t until he knew Mr. Miyagi was far away that he allowed himself to the frustrated yell that he let out, and then the tears that followed.


End file.
